


Guns

by saddle_tramp



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Humor, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-26
Updated: 2011-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddle_tramp/pseuds/saddle_tramp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rating: R for language, PG-13 for content</p><p>Summary: John Winchester's sense of humor is evil, Dean's very sure of it, but even worse, he's a Marine and everyone knows they're all twisted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guns

  
When Dean was eighteen, John rented an old house way out in the sticks where there wouldn't be any neighbors to see he wasn't usually there to keep an eye on his boys. The house was about five miles from a tiny hick town in Oklahoma, the kind of place Dean usually hated most, but this time there was a single redeeming factor.

Her name was Nicky "Call me Nicole and I'll deck you" Phelps, and Dean was head over heels for her within a day.

She was a blonde with curvy hips, nice boobs, and bright blue eyes that were always laughing at him, and Dean didn't care that she could kick the ass of half the guys in the hick town high school, or that she wore the same brand of flannel shirts he did. It didn't matter that Nicky's face was a little plain or that her hands were even more callused than Dean's because she'd spent her life working on her Dad's ranch, wrestling cattle and recalcitrant old tractors. Any flaws she had were made up for by the fact he didn't have to pretend to care about football and pop music and all that shit he'd had to learn to get with other girls.

Fucking cheerleaders was one of Dean's favorite hobbies, but actually talking to them? He'd rather scrub demon guts out of his hair. And he'd done both, so he knew that for a fact. Talking to cheerleaders was high on his list of "unpleasant things I do to get laid", right up there with "not breaking the quarterback's jaw just because I can" and "being nice to Sammy because girls think he's adorable".

Nicky was different, though. Dean could talk to her about the things _he_ cared about. It was a revelation.

She liked to hunt with her dad and knew a lot about firearms. She would happily discuss the knockdown power of a .30/06 compared to a .30-30, and how different types of ammunition did different things, and agreed with Dean that a .22 was just what you learned on before you were old enough to be trusted with a real gun. She was a good shot, better than Sammy, but she could track like a fucking bloodhound, too. She could follow Dean even when Dean himself could barely find his tracks, and could leave less sign than a ghost when she really put her mind to it. Dean learned more about tracking from playing kissing games with her than he'd ever learned from his Dad.

It wasn't just hunting she knew, though. Nicky also knew the right way to wax a car, and how to adjust a carburetor to make an engine _roar_. She liked the smell of exhaust and didn't mind riding with the windows down blowing her hair all to hell and gone so Dean could feel the wind in his face. She sang along to ‘ _Enter Sandman’_ and ‘ _Attitude Adjustment’_ with equal enthusiasm, loved Dean's old leather jacket almost as much as he did, and liked to press her face to the Impala's leather seats and inhale the scent of saddle soap and that indefinable something that said the Impala was no shiny new car, but a car with _history_.

In short, Dean thought Nicky was damn near perfect.

Nicky was soon not only Dean's girl, but his best friend, too. Dean hadn't ever had a best friend, not one like Sammy always did who liked all the same stuff and could finish his sentences. He loved it and figured that he and Nicky had a good chance of maybe staying together a while. He hadn't ever really wanted that before, but with Nicky it seemed like it was all he could think about. He wanted to take her with them when they moved on, get her out of that little hick town she hated and show her the world. Sure, Dad said women had no business even _knowing_ about what they did, but Nicky was tough and smart. She could fight next to them, Dean was sure of it.

By the time she talked him into showing her the gunroom down in the basement, they had been dating for a few months and the end of the school year was only a week away. He hadn't quite gotten her to have sex with him yet, but she would fool around with him and he hadn't tried as determinedly as he might have with another girl. This time, this girl, was different. She understood him. He could get off anytime, but making Nicky laugh or having her trust him enough to sleep over with him sometimes when Dad was out of town, that was special. Besides, she liked blowjobs almost as much as he did and loved to tease him about the faces he made when he came.

That day in the gunroom, Nicky was in a playful mood and Dean was horny as hell. Before Dean knew it, he was laughing as Nicky pointed his dad's favorite shotgun at him.

"Take it all off, hotshot," Nicky said, teasing. "I want to see every inch of you for a change instead of just your dick."

Dean smirked at her. "Only if you'll do the same."

Nicky laughed and gave the shotgun a little shake. "I'm the one with the gun! Do as I say, then we'll talk."

Dean smirked a little wider. "Yes ma'am." He had cleared the gun himself so he knew it was an idle threat just as well as Nicky did, but they were alone in the house. He didn't mind playing games, he knew Nicky wouldn't tease him for too long before she did something. She wasn't a pricktease, unlike most girls Dean had known, and never led him on unless she intended to get him off. She didn't always let him get _her_ off, but he figured that was totally her own choice and he wasn't going to look a gift blowjob in the mouth.

Dean's shirt was already in the floor and he was just beginning to peel his jeans off when he realized Nicky had gone wide-eyed and was staring past him. Dean turned to look and stifled a groan. Dad _and_ Sammy were standing in the open doorway.

"Nicky, Dean, what do you two think you're doing down here?"

Dean swallowed hard. Dad looked ready to skin someone alive, so he should _not_ sound like they were strolling through Wal-Mart discussing what to get for dinner. Which, actually, was where he and Sam were supposed to be, but that was beside the point. When Dad looked pissed and sounded that calm, Dean was always in deep shit. "We were, uh, just, y'know... Having a little fun. Nothing dangerous, Dad. Honest."

John's eyebrows lowered a bit and his eyes narrowed, but he still sounded very calm as he said, "Having a girl point my _shotgun_ at you is fun."

Nicky looked ashamed and set the shotgun back in the rack, her face beet red. "We were just playing around, sir. It's not even loaded. I made sure."

Dean flushed, already buttoning his pants again. "It's my fault, Dad." He'd be happier if Dad was yelling. When Dad yelled, he didn't do anything more, but when he got all quiet and calm-sounding he was trying to keep his temper in check, which meant he was _really_ mad. One time, Dean wound up scrubbing Dad's grungy four-by-four with a toothbrush.

"I knew that much, Dean," John said, his tone still calm even though he looked anything but. "I think you should put your shirt back on and then show Nicky to her truck."

"Yes sir," Dean said softly, turning to go get his shirt. He knew suddenly and with utter clarity that Nicky wouldn't be coming along with them after all. It hurt to think of leaving her, but having Dad look at him like he was a waste of oxygen was even worse. Dad had told him a hundred times that he needed to stop doing stupid shit to impress girls, so what did he do? He showed off their whole _arsenal_ , most of which was illegal, to a girl. Sammy was right; he should get 'dumbass' tattooed on his forehead.

It seemed like only a few seconds later that Nicky's beat-up old pickup was disappearing down the drive in a cloud of dust and Dean was left alone in the middle of the yard with his dad, who looked like he might break the "no hitting" family rule after all, and his smart-assed little brother.

"Sammy, don't wander off," John said quietly, not even glancing away from Dean's face.

"Yes sir." Sam sat on the top step of the worn old wooden stairs, wide-eyed but grinning. Sam thought it was funny that he and Dad had walked in on Dean and that girl of his playing some kinky sex game, even though Dad was pissed as hell. Dad wasn't pissed at _him_ and that was all Sam cared about. This ought to be even better than the time Dean picked up a hellhound puppy at the side of the road and brought it home.

John folded his arms across his chest, his intent gaze making Dean want to squirm. "Alright son, you wanted to strip in front of somebody. Get busy."

Dean blinked and glanced around, then back at Dad, wide-eyed. "Here?" They were still in the front yard, and yeah, there were no neighbors within a half-mile, but still! What if someone came up the driveway? Nicky could have forgotten something, or that kid Sam was hanging around with might decide to ride over on his three-wheeler again, or—

"Now, boy!" John barked, making Sam and Dean both jump.

Dean knew better than to argue with that tone. "Yes sir." He started stripping as fast as he could, face beet red.

John glanced at Sam. "Go get Dean's rifle."

Sam jumped up and ran into to house even as he called over his shoulder, "Yes sir!"

Dean stripped to his boxers and his socks there in the middle of their weed-filled front yard, then looked at his dad hopefully. "Boxers too?"

"Yep."

Dean flushed redder again and shucked out of his boxers, dropping them on his jeans. "Now what, sir?" At least it was warm out, and the sun was behind the trees already so he wouldn't get sunburned. He hoped Dad wouldn't make him take off the socks. He hated walking barefoot in their yard, the dog fennel made his feet itch like hell for days afterwards if he did.

John snorted. "Be patient." He just stood and watched Dean squirm until he heard footsteps, then turned to watch Sam walking towards them down the hallway that led to the kitchen and the basement stairs.

Sam was carrying Dean's hunting rifle, a .30/06, in both hands slanted across his chest with the barrel towards the ceiling just like Dad had taught him to, and he was careful to walk at a normal pace and watch where he was going even though he wanted to hurry. Sam had known before he was five that you only ran with a rifle when there was a good reason to, even if the rifle was empty. Seeing Dean get in trouble was fun, but it wasn't a good enough reason to run with a rifle and Sam knew it.

Sam walked out the still-open door and down the steps to cross the yard, stopping by his dad. "Here it is, Dad." He waited for Dad to take the gun, then took a full clip out of his pocket and offered it wordlessly.

None of their personal guns were stored empty, even though most people thought you should. If things went bad, Dad always said they needed to have a familiar weapon ready to fire as soon as they reached it instead of still needing to scramble for bullets even after they had a gun. Sam knew that a werewolf could bend a carbine in half before he could load a clip, much less load bullets _into_ a clip. He'd seen one bend a shotgun it took from a cop once, and it had happened faster than he could blink.

John took the rifle, holding it one-handed by the wrist of the stock like a pistol as he accepted the clip with his free hand, sticking it in his shirt pocket. "Very good, Sammy, but we won't need bullets tonight. Go have a seat."

"Yes sir," Sam said quickly, hurrying back to the steps to sit down.

John stalked towards Dean with the rifle and showed it to Dean. "What is this, Dean?"

Dean swallowed. "A Winchester .30/06, sir." Dad gave it to him for his fifteenth birthday, when he moved up from the old M1 carbine Sammy carried now. When Sammy turned fifteen, the .30/06 would go to him and Dean would get a riot shotgun like Dad's and his own automatic.

John snorted. "Yeah, but that's not what I was going for. Generally, what would you call this?"

Dean blinked, confused. "Uh... A gun?"

"Ha! That's my boy," John said, grinning suddenly. "But you're wrong. This is not a gun. This is a rifle. _That_ ," he gestured towards Dean's crotch, "is your gun."

Dean's eyes widened. "Oh shit, Dad, you wouldn't."

"Would, and will." John offered him the rifle, looking downright evil even with the grin. "Take it, boy."

Dean took the rifle. If ‘ _Full Metal Jacket’_ hadn't been one of his favorite movies, he might not have known what his dad had in mind. As it was, he wished he were anywhere else. It was funny as hell on a TV screen to see recruits grabbing their dicks and singing while they ran, but this wasn't going to be random guys on TV, this would be _him_. At least Dad had let Nicky leave first, but God! Sammy would _never_ let him forget this.

John took two steps back and then said, "I'm gonna be nice and let you just stand there to say it, but you better get started or I might change my mind."

Dean closed his eyes a second and took a deep breath, then opened his eyes again and stared straight ahead – which was thankfully not at either Dad or Sam – and put one hand on his dick, holding the rifle with the other hand. "This is my rifle," he muttered as he raised the rifle slightly, "this is my gun," he moved his dick. "This is for fighting," he moved the rifle again, "this is for fun." Again he hefted his dick, feeling like an utter tool.

Sam stifled a snicker, glancing at Dad and then looking back at Dean. He looked ridiculous standing there with a rifle in one hand and his dick in the other. Sam was tempted to run for the video camera, but even if Dad would let him, Dean would just destroy the tape as soon as he got a chance.

"Louder, we can't hear you," John said, sounding almost cheerful as he walked over to join Sam on the steps.

"This is my rifle, this is my gun!" Dean repeated in a normal tone of voice, beet red all the way down past his collarbone. "This is for fighting, this is for fun!"

John let out a little snort of laughter as he settled on the top step, bumping Sam's shoulder with his as Dean repeated it again. "You ever gonna let a girl play around with my shotgun, Sammy?" John asked quietly, watching Dean with a smirk.

Sam snickered and shook his head quickly, glancing at his dad and then back at Dean. "No sir! I'm not going to let _anyone_ point a shotgun at me, I don't care how bad I want in her pants."

John laughed, lifting one hand to ruffle Sammy's unruly hair. "Smart boy!"

Dean turned his head just enough to glare at his little brother. One of these days, Dean hoped he was there to see Sammy screw up in front of Dad in a major way. He wanted to be the one standing back and smirking for a change. Sammy could be such a little kiss-ass and Dad just ate it up with a _spoon_ because he couldn't see past those wide innocent eyes to realize that Sammy was fourteen going on forty. Sure, sweet little Sammy hadn't actually _done_ anything with a girl yet, but the kid liked to write in Dean's _Playboy_ magazines, correcting the articles. When Dean was fourteen, _he_ sure hadn't known the difference between a clit and a g-spot, but Sammy could draw a fucking map to them both. Literally!

Sam grinned at his dad as Dean repeated again, "This is my rifle, this is my gun! This is for fighting, this is for fun!"

John winked at Sam before he looked at Dean again, smirking. "Louder, son. The neighbors can't hear you yet."

"This is my rifle," Dean repeated more loudly, "this is my gun! This is for fighting, this is for fun!"

Dean was never letting a girl touch a weapon again. Hell, he'd never even let a girl know he _had_ weapons again, except his 'gun'. He _was_ going to short-sheet Sammy's bed, though, and _then_ he would fill it with sandspurs. Or a snake, if he could find one. Sammy screamed like a girl whenever he saw a snake.

Or at least, he would as soon as Dad let him stop standing buck naked in the front yard, holding his dick in his hand and yelling, "This is my rifle, this is my gun! This is for fighting, this is for fun!"

The way Dad was smirking, they might be there all night.

 

 

~ End


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